


night zero

by pianoblack



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoblack/pseuds/pianoblack
Summary: “I think we get it,” Jiang interrupts.  "You had a horror dream after watching a bunch of scary movies this week even though you told us you wouldn’t and now we have to deal with the fallout.“Kavinsky lets his mouth hang open for a second but he doesn’t have a reasonable retort.  That about covers it."So,” Proko says, “what’s the plan?”“Uh….”
Kudos: 1





	night zero

**Author's Note:**

> another of my halloween 2k20 adjacent ramblings. originally posted [here](https://stamatis.tumblr.com/post/632807877034246144/kks-trc-halloween-ficlet-whatever-week-3-this-one).

It’s October and Joseph Kavinsky is dreaming of monsters.

All in all it’s a good dream. He knows monsters. He knows horror. And this? A slow moving horde like disease made physical? Tangible problems that can be solved with his hands and just enough force? These aren’t the monsters he’s dreamt of in the past and that makes it a good dream.

His destination has been the same for days (or was it weeks? minutes? centuries?): the penthouse suite of tall gangly skyscraper in the dead center of whatever conglomerate metropolis his mind had cobbled together. They had planned on making it together and yet now, here in the elevator, he is alone. A bell chimes like a lullaby overhead and the gilded gate slides open effortlessly, followed by the silent parting of the thick golden doors. The foyer looks untouched by the apocalypse-ravaged city just below. If not for the flickering lights and complete absence of any other human being, it would be a lovely place.

He’s has never cared for lovely places so he breaks whatever’s necessary to get inside. The door creaks open, heavy and imposing, and - of fucking course - the inside is overflowing with monsters. He was never clear on whether these were the reanimated dead or some kind of horrific reaction to a plague. Not that it matters. He tightens his grip on the nail-studded bat in his dominant hand and flexes the fingers of his other in his armored gauntlet. Joseph Kavinsky did not make it this far to lose.

He clears the main room and finds the study he and the boys had all but mythologized. And it’s there. Set primly on the overlarge mahogany desk. A plain black leather suitcase with a thin smattering of dust covering it. It’s been here since this thing started, waiting for whoever’s worthy to come find it. Kavinsky pops the hinge and it’s not locked. It’s never been locked. Rows and rows of vials filled with honey thick liquid, almost clear with a green tinge. He pockets a couple but locks and takes the whole briefcase with him.

He barely makes it out of the room before one of them wraps a necrotic hand around his arm in a death grip. Kavinsky manages to pull away but the hand stays attached, dead fingers and nails and bones digging in to the thick denim of his jacket - no, Proko’s jacket. He has to make it back and return it. He promised he would.

He swings and misses. His feet catch on the plush carpet beneath him and he topples into the wall behind him. Two more appear, slithering and moaning as they make their way toward him, blocking his way back to the entrance. He edges down the hallway, back pressed so hard against the wall he can feel the ridges in the wooden pattern. His shoulder snags on a door frame and he reaches to try the knob. He never once turns his back to them. First thing he learned in the apocalypse.

The door swings open behind him and more sets of hands than he can count wrap all over his body, pulling him back. The two in front find him are closing the cramped space, filling it with rot, and more and more just keep on coming. There’s no way he’s getting out of this. But Kavinsky has a weapon that no one else has. 

He closes his eyes and wakes up.

He watches himself lying prone and defenseless in the dark shroud of his room. Proko lumbers under the covers beside Kavinsky. Predictable. Soothing, almost. Kavinsky’s body looks limp as it dangles carelessly close to the edge of the bed. He’d kicked off the covers at some point and from above Kavinsky checks his body. He’d passed out in nothing but his jeans so it’s easy to see if there are any new marks or bruises or whatever. He doesn’t see anything. He hasn’t taken any of the badass weapons with him which is a disappointment but it also doesn’t look as though he’s taken anything back at all. Then why is he floating here detached? 

Light floods the room in an oddly stretched rectangle when the door bursts open. Proko is standing in the light. Still floating, Kavinsky stares at the Proko in the door then at the Proko on the bed. Shit.

_Shit_.

The thing in the bed creeps a bloody, skinless hand out from under the covers and it reaches for Kavinsky. Proko gets to him first and he drags Kavinsky’s body from the bed, nearly dropping him on the floor. Anxiety and irritation flash through Kavinsky. His first thought: what the fuck? His second thought: _what the fuck_. His body has never been moved while he’s cut away from it. Maybe he’ll never find his way back. Maybe he’ll be trapped in this ghost state forever.

There’s a sudden pressure on his ribs, nearly cracking them, and he hears Proko frantically mumbling the worst condolences and apologies. His vision blurs and the vertigo hits from being slammed from one vantage to another. It feels good to breathe at first but then the air is so full of the musty smell of blood he nearly chokes on it. Something slick grips his wrist. It feels exactly like it did in the dream.

Proko pulls him toward the door and Kavinsky manages to pull away from the monster’s grip. The two of them escape as the thing in the bed gets lost in Kavinsky’s brushed wool sheets. He’ll need to dream another set.

As the two of them reach the second story landing, another monster lies crushed. It’s head has been bashed in and the brains smeared along the tiled floor. Kavinsky pauses long enough that he nearly loses his balance when Proko continues pulling him down the staircase. He tries to ask how many but Proko shushes him then promptly apologizes. He leads the two of them to the pantry under the stairs. The others are already waiting.

“I got him!" Proko announces, slightly out of breath. Jiang, Skov, and Swan are huddled into the far, low corner of the pantry holding various household items as weapons. A chair leg splattered with blood. A kitchen knife. One of the many decorative rifles that’s now bent all out of sorts. Kavinsky is about to make a joke about one of them with the candlestick in the ballroom when Proko picks up an ornate candlestick that had been lying next to the bags of dried beans. He smiles at Kavinsky like he’s proud of himself. The others look cautiously expectant.

"Okay, I can explain,” Kavinsy says stepping as much into the center of the cramped room as he can.

“I think we get it,” Jiang interrupts. "You had a horror dream after watching a bunch of scary movies this week even though you told us you wouldn’t and now we have to deal with the fallout.“

Kavinsky lets his mouth hang open for a second but he doesn’t have a reasonable retort. That about covers it.

"So,” Proko says, “what’s the plan?”

“Uh….”

“Are these horrors of science or religion?" asks Skov. He’s bouncing on his feet and swinging a knife around. The amount of excited energy he’s giving off would almost feels inappropriate if it hadn’t been his default. "Is one of us gonna become a reanimated corpse or will a virus override our humanity?”

“Uh…”

“How many are there?” asks Jiang.

“Uh…" 

Fuck, does he know anything?

"At least two,” says Proko when Kavinsky doesn’t answer. "There’s another - oh, we forgot to close the door!“

"For fuck’s sake!" Jiang drags his fingers through his hair.

Mumbles of dissent bubble through the group and Kavinsky struggles to keep things in sight. He knows there’s at least two zombies walking around his four story mansion. What happened in the dream? He had so much more to work with in there, that’s for sure. All he has in reality is this shit in his house and -

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and finds it. A single vial of faintly glowing liquid, honey thick and clouded green. Kavinsky rolls the antidote in his hand and thinks. A plan forms in his head. Well, more an impulse. Kavinsky never knew what people meant when they talked about plans. It’s always been so hard for him to see past what was in front of him. And all he knows is he needs to kill whatever’s out there. He grabs the candlestick from Proko.

"It doesn’t matter how many there are,” Kavinsky says. “We’re gonna lock those bitches in the house and go to town.”

Proko is nodding in agreement like it’s the best plan he’s ever heard. The other look various shades of dubious.

Kavinsky continues, “I have an antidote right here. There’s how many - like two or three? We can take ‘em.”

“That plan sucks,” Swan says, finally contributing something to the conversation other than eye rolls.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“First, you’re talking out of your ass. Which, you always do, but I kind of want to live. Second, what if a fucking raccoon or squirrel ate a piece of zombie brains? That shit would be all over in like. A week. Tops. You’re not starting the zombie apocalypse, K." Proko tilts his head like he’s considering that point of view and finding it entirely plausible. But he still looks to Kavinsky for approval. Kavinsky doesn’t have a response to that that isn’t some form of _I do not give a fuck_. "And third, have you noticed that there’s at least FIVE of them in the kitchen right now?”

Swan gestures to the door. The boys sit in silence for a second but then they hear it. Droplets slapping against the tiled floor of the kitchen at a lazy pace followed by something wet and squelching. Plunk, swish. Plunk, swish. It pauses. None of them are breathing.

Skov moves to press his face against the door and peers through the sliver. He pulls back suddenly on a swear. "That thing fucking looked at me!“

"New plan?” Proko nudges Kavinsky’s shoulder a little rougher than normal, probably trying for casually unaffected but instead coming off as extremely affected and panicking. The boards above them creak and thud. It’s hard to say just how many monsters are out there but it’s definitely more than two or three.

“The security system,” Kavinsky says. "The control panel is in the basement by the dry bar. We get down there, set that shit to fry whatever moves, then give ourselves three minutes to get out.“

"I don’t even want to know what kind of fucked up dream that came out of,” Jiang says blandly.

“Fuck off. How’s that for a plan?”

“Yeah, whatever, it’s good, let’s go!” Skov somehow found another knife and is recklessly wielding both of them. Distantly, Kavinsky thinks someone should take those from him. "Bet I can kill more than the rest of you idiots.“

Swan shrugs. Good enough. Proko is back to nodding enthusiastically.

An insistent scratching on the door and a chorus of low painful moans signals that the monsters have found their hiding place. Kavinsky adjusts the candlestick in his hand. The others fall into formation behind him as they always do. Only one thing left to do.

Kavinsky slams the door open sending one of the monsters slipping and toppling to the ground. He swings the candlestick around with less grace than he had in the dream, but it it still connects with a satisfying crunch. One of the monsters falls in front of him. He desperately wishes he was wearing shoes right now. Or even a damn shirt. Jiang bursts from the pantry behind Kavinsky and stomps down on the monster’s head. It pops under Jiang’s boot and he kicks the remains as hard as he can. Nicely done. Exactly what Kavinsky would do.

This little scuffle catches the attention of the others. Kavinsky scans the room - four or five left that he can see, and who knows how many out of sight. There are more upstairs too. But their target is the basement. As long as they can make it there they’ve made it. They’ve won.

"Don’t get bit,” Proko says. He drapes his denim jacket over Kavinsky’s shoulders and threads his fingers through his free hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
